


Stars are Never Sleeping

by Silberias



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi, Olenna is crafty and likes plots and schemes, because of crazy loyalty to Targaryens and all that, the Tyrells help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4240215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silberias/pseuds/Silberias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa escapes marrying Tyrion, just as Robb and Catelyn escape the Red Wedding. She does not, however, escape the notice of the Martells who are about to make their opening moves in the War of Five Kings by adding in a Queen of their own. Unknowing of their schemes, Tywin plays right into their hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AidansQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidansQueen/gifts), [alijah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alijah/gifts).



Tywin read with interest the letter from Sunspear. Prince Oberyn had need of a wife--one as highly born as himself but young enough to get trueborn heirs of. _It would not normally be an issue_ \--Prince Doran wrote, continuing on that because his daughter Arianne was betrothed to Lord Tyrell's crippled heir and Doran's younger sons were both in Essos with their mother, Prince Oberyn was miraculously next in line for the Spear Chair. 

_Accepting I might be of his bastards, I will not invest my brother as my heir if he does not have a trueborn child of his own. Finding a woman who is well bred to honor his birth would be easy if Oberyn were willing to send his bastards away but he is not--and so I reach out to you for aid. The King's ward, Lady Sansa Stark, is young enough that she might provide my brother with a good number of legitimate children and she will not be in a position to object to the bastards that Oberyn already has. Besides, marrying her might teach my brother some humility by reminding him what becomes of men who rebel against their sworn lords._

Tywin knew that Robert's lesson to the Dornish, as well as Tywin's own, had been well learned. They were not a craven people, despite being dubbed such by the various would-be kings who'd been refused over the last year by them. They were cautious, only, and for this Tywin would respect them. Unlike the Young Wolf or the Ironborn or the Brothers Baratheon, the Dornish did not scheme or plot. He remembered certain words, passed to him by Pycelle, that Prince Doran had sent to Robert's Small Council: _our loyalty is to the Realm and the man who rules it_. Now in return for their loyal neutrality the Dornish wanted a woman--a typical, paltry thing, he thought as he sent for Sansa Stark. The ease with which Dornish alliances were bought and strengthened was comically easy to fulfill.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa expected Joffrey and his caprices--Margaery was in the midst of her monthly flowering and had withdrawn from court for a few days, leaving the King bored and in essence unattended. There were whispers from the Tyrells that they were working on a way for Sansa to get out of King's Landing as well as stern words from Lady Olenna--that any path to the North was not a wise one, so should opportunity present itself to return to Winterfell she should be wary of it. Too many wanted the legitimacy of her birth for themselves, and while her brother yet lived she should continue to wait for aid. Or go East, West, or South, just for the love of the gods avoid any plan that overtly took her North for there could only be woe in it.

"Lady Stark," Lord Tywin addressed her as she entered the chamber of the Hand of the King alone, managing not to wince at the name he gave her, "do sit down." He'd tried to murder her brother and, after capturing her, forced her mother to wed Ser Jaime Lannister. It effectively made Sansa into Lady Stark, and though her brother won many battles he was stymied in the war effort. Robb would not be King in the North long without some sort of miracle. Joffrey of course had been furious when Ser Jaime had refused to bring Lady Catelyn to court, saying in his letter that if Joff wanted for Stark suffering he shouldn't have married Margaery Tyrell. Sansa's bruises hadn't faded for weeks after the King had received that letter.

Whether the Kingslayer meant for Joffrey to wed Sansa or Lady Catelyn instead of Margaery, Sansa couldn't tell. Nor did she meditate too long on it either.

"You are to be congratulated, Lady Stark, on your betrothal. Your children shall be numerous and brave," Lord Tywin said as she arranged her skirts after sitting in the offered chair. Sansa's heart thundered even as she managed to keep her face serene. Lord Tywin would not see her tremble, she would be a perfect lady before him as she was perfect to all others in this accursed place.

"Betrothal?" she asked sweetly, praying that she would be wedded to Willas or his brother Loras. A cripple or a pillowbiter over anyone else, please, please, please, she asked the Seven. Lord Tywin nodded in answer to her question, sliding across his desk a letter. The broken seal, done in bright orange wax, covered the sigil stamped into it but Sansa's mind was already turning to Houses whose significant colors featured such a vivid orange. There were few of the North who used such a shade, small also were the number who used it in the Vale or the Riverlands. Perhaps she would wed someone from the Reach? With great hesitation then she picked up the letter and read it, her skin growing cold as she took in what it meant.

There were certain men deemed too old for her by her mother, who had always mumbled something along the lines of having Sansa marry below her station if only to be alike in age. To that end Sansa had disagreed with her mother. She was the daughter of the Lord Paramount of the North, granddaughter to the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, and only the son of another Lord Paramount or a member of the royal family was equal to her birth and so worthy of her hand. How wrong she'd been! If only she'd agreed or asked to marry someone like Jory Cassel, or a Karstark, or even Theon.

"Prince Doran's request has been answered this very hour, my lady," Lord Tywin said as Sansa took a shallow, shaking breath in, "and you will travel with Lady Olenna Tyrell as she escorts Princess Myrcella to Highgarden. From there you will travel on to Kingsgrave where the Manwoodys will take you to Sunspear for your wedding."

"And Prince Oberyn?" her voice did not waver, and she took comfort in her continued appearance of calm acceptance. Rebellion in this city was deadly for Starks, and she took to heart the lessons of Rickard, Brandon, Eddard, and Arya Stark. Rebellion and dissent were deadly. Lord Tywin drew in a breath and let it out as a sigh, taking the letter from her and folding it neatly once more. His voice was utterly devoid of emotion, only stating facts at this point.

"Will probably bed you the day you arrive, with a wedding shortly after. He has been grabbing power from Prince Doran for some years and your marriage will legitimize it. Still, he is Dornish and may pay you more courtesy during your relationship than the last man you were promised to."

"You mean he will not beat me," she said, her control slipping for a moment and letting some bit of Arya's soul out of her mouth.

"I do not recall, Lady Stark," Lord Tywin said coldly, "that the King ever personally laid a hand to you during your betrothal to him. But," he conceded then, "I do not believe that Prince Oberyn will dishonor your person in such a manner as you experienced before the arrival of Queen Margaery to court." Sansa managed a courtly nod at this.

It wasn't a comfort, knowing he might be better than Joffrey. Joffrey she understood, Joffrey she could handle, Joffrey she knew. Prince Oberyn, the Red Viper, was a lustful man. A father to eight acknowledged bastards--and who knew how many more--and he was incurably and incredibly violent. All this she knew from her own parent's and septa's mouths and now she was to be his wife within a few turns of the moon.

 _But at least I will be out of King's Landing_ , she tried to remind herself as she was led back to her rooms, _and I will be out of Joffrey's reach_. The knowledge that Margaery would be left alone haunted her but there was nothing for it. Besides, Joff didn't dare lay a finger on his wife when Lord Tyrell's forces more than doubled the number of the Crown and Sansa needed to conserve her cunning and hastily-learned skills for her new life in Dorne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Thank you for reading!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad that everyone is enjoying this little ditty of a story! I hope you like this chapter!

Lady Olenna surprised Sansa when, upon reaching Highgarden, abandoned Myrcella there to get to know her betrothed--a gangly Hightower lad--and then sent for Willas Tyrell. The Tyrells, the old woman groused, had their own bride to collect and she'd be damned if Prince Doran found a way to wiggle out of this match. Sansa had been glad for Lady Olenna, though, as they traveled south into Dorne. The woman shared scandalous tales of her youth, the whole Summer she'd once spent in the Arbor and the men she'd loved while there.

She also spoke of Dornish values and traditions, what was acceptable to them and what was abhorrent. Though Sansa could never blame her parents for how they'd raised her--for she'd felt their love in her heart as so few other highborn nobles seemed to have--she wished that there had been someone in her life who spoke these honest truths to her. While Queen Cersei's teachings had been harsh and cruel they had opened Sansa's eyes to the world around her, and though Olenna's own schooling was less cruel it was no less harsh. As they trundled through the Dornish Marches Sansa learned more of Dorne in a matter of weeks than she had in years under Septa Mordane.

Bastards were common and accepted by the spouses of their parents, women were allowed to inherit without question, rapers and murderers were executed. Dornish women hardly ever went to their marriage beds as maids, and their husbands rarely expected to see a virgin's blood on the sheets. Girls as young as Sansa were rarely married, and if they were they did not go to their husband's home until they reached a majority of eight and ten.

Once Sansa might have hoped that her betrothed would be one such man, that she might reside somewhere in Dorne until she'd grown, but Lord Tywin's words about Prince Oberyn and his lust for power counseled her against it. If the last barrier between himself and the Spear Chair of Dorne was a legitimate child he would get one on her as soon as her womb would quicken with one. He did not need to wait for a son, after all.

When they arrived in Kingsgrave they were met by the Manwoodys and their guards, one of the men stepping forward to kneel before Sansa herself.

"My lady," he said softly, "I am sent by Prince Doran to keep you safe whilst you are in Dorne, up to and including at the cost of my own life. No man will savage you or frighten you without meeting my sword before meeting the Stranger," his accent was thicker than that of the Manwoody knights, and the lines on his face reminded her of her father. There was also the same distance between him and the other men that her father had had. As though the respect for his abilities bordered on fear. Sansa wanted to believe these things rather than the opposite--the opposite being that he would snarl and growl to her like the Hound had.

"What may I call you, Ser?" she ignored the amused looks on Lord Willas and Lady Olenna's faces. She didn't want to lie to herself that Dorne would be anything but a new prison, and that this man might ask her to name him her sworn shield only to become her jailor. That he would be, at best, like the Hound Sandor Clegane and at worst alike to someone like Meryn Trant. She did not hope for someone honorable like her uncle the Blackfish or her brother Robb.

"My name is Khae mazmo Katlasa, a knight sworn in service to Prince Doran," he said with a grin as he straightened from his bow. Sansa smiled hesitantly at the bizarre name. Lord Willas had said that some people from Eastern Dorne hardly spoke the common tongue unless someone made them to. It made sense that their names would be just as stubborn.

"Thank you, Ser Khae, for your kind courtesy to our friend Lady Sansa," Lord Willas said, a teasing grin on his face as he spoke. Sansa flushed with embarrassment as he made sport of the man sent by House Martell to protect her on her journey to Sunspear. He was not the handsome knight from a song but he deserved better handling than japes and jeers. Her new knight seemed unmoved by the jesting tone of Lord Willas, only offering her his arm as the Manwoodys ushered them into the keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you like it? Let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

Each morning Ser Khae helped her into the litter she shared with Lady Olenna and walked alongside it for the day, his horse following on a short lead. As they made their way along the northron coast of Dorne, he taught her about the Dornish in ways that Lady Olenna had not--and it was just after they passed through the Tor that his patience with Lord Willas' teasing came to an end with a sharp set of words with the man. For a moment, watching from a distance, Sansa worried that he had angered the crippled heir of Highgarden but the two men sorted themselves out fairly well.

Watching Sansa's consternation Lady Olenna remarked that Lord Willas was still a child of Summer in many respects and that though Winter hardly touched Dorne as it did the rest of Westeros the Dornish nonetheless learned their lessons well and early. That it was good for her grandson to run into a situation such as this and be forced to learn from it. Mindful of the few times Joffrey had announced an intention to have someone poisoned after they slighted him somehow, Sansa had given her own plate of food that night to her sworn sword and taken his. If Lord Willas decided to be childish about the spat of the afternoon he would not take her only friendly face from her.

Ser Khae had been amused at her antics but had allowed them with grace, not teasing her in his words or many of his looks. There had been a certain respect in his eyes though as she stopped him from eating and primly adjusted their plates in their new positions. His dark eyes followed her for most of the night and Sansa found herself following him just as much. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Prince Oberyn was of an age with this man and she had to familarize herself to his look and his experience, or perhaps it was his unwavering kindness to her, or perhaps it was a mix of both. Ser Khae was alike to many of the knights of her childhood, while Prince Oberyn loomed in her mind as a mix between Joffrey and what she heard of Stannis Baratheon.

Bloodthirsty, half-mad, dour, and so much older than her. She wished her mother had prepared her for such people, she wished that she'd listened to her father and let him give her to someone good and decent and gentle. She wished she'd run away with the Hound, despite what turmoil that might have become. If only Ser Khae offered her that chance to run away from her fate, this prison so far from her home, the power-hungry man who awaited her in Sunspear.

Two days before they were to reach Sunspear she did not come to supper, sending her handmaiden away and weeping into her pillow as she curled up in her small cot. It was where Ser Khae found her, bearing a bowl of spicy stew in his callused hands. Though her hair was in disarray and her face no doubt blotchy Sansa allowed him into her tent. She had the feeling that if anyone would be shocked or incensed it would the Tyrells of the group--Prince Oberyn would marry her soon enough, and he was not bothered by bastards. Not that she would attempt anything with her sweet knight, but Sansa had aged ten years while in King's Landing and understood how this might look.

"My lady, you missed the most amusing conversation between Lady Olenna and her grandson," Ser Khae said, pressing the bowl into her hands before seating himself on one of her trunks. Sansa gingerly sat down on her cot, not taking up the spoon provided and staring listlessly at the rugs that covered the sand beneath them. Her sworn sword frowned a little as she did not perk up at his words, but continued nonetheless. He was a bit like Margaery in that, relentless and warm.

"The Lady Olenna believes her grandson much at risk of abdicating his responsibilities in the Reach in order to become the Prince Consort of Princess Arianne--and as she cannot stand her pillowbiter or her puppy he is henceforth forbidden from such antics. Pray tell me my lady, who ever can she mean?"

Sansa cleared her throat a little so that she might at least sound like a refined lady, not one who spent the evening weeping.

"She means Ser Loras and Ser Garlan. Lord Willas is her prudent one, Queen Margaery is her pride, Ser Loras is her pillowbiter, and Ser Garlan is her puppy. Her son, Lord Tyrell, is her puppet." She tried to smile at the slight joke and allowed that smile to grow when Ser Khae chuckled. His presence really did make her feel a bit better.

"My lady, may I know the reason for your grief?" Sansa took up the spoon in her stew and sipped a bit on the broth to avoid answering him. She wished she was as bold as a woman from one of her songs, bold enough to run away. She wondered, glancing up at Ser Khae through her eyelashes, if her sworn sword would let her. If he would help her.

"I do not want to marry Prince Oberyn. I want to go home, to Winterfell. I want to see my mother, to at least know that my sister is alive or dead," she said, tears slipping down her face once more and making it difficult to swallow. Ser Khae knelt in front of her then, hands resting lightly on her knees and thumbs rubbing slow circles there.

"You have not even met him, my lady," he said, his tone earnest, "and I will help you gut him myself if he dares dream of keeping you from seeing Winterfell or your mother. The pledge you accepted from me in Kingsgrave will stand above all others that anyone might make you, though I do not know how to convince you of such."

Sansa carefully set the bowl of stew on the rug-covered ground and took Ser Khae's hands with her own trembling ones. Slowly, so he could pull away should he think her wanton or scandalous, she knit their fingers together and held his hands there on her lap. When her knight looked up at her in curiosity, Sansa leaned forward and pressed her lips on his--hoping for something, anything. Instead Ser Khae froze for a moment before gently tugging his hands free, and she hung her head deeply when he took his mouth from hers.

"My dear lady, we cannot," then seeming to remember what she'd been taught of Dornish mores he continued, "we _will_ not. I would not be able to bear it, not with the wedding--I would be yours before the gods of men, sweet lady. Not--"

Sansa stared at her fingers, trying to memorize the warmth of his lips despite their loss, and didn't look up at him to have him finish his piece. The tent flap barely made a sound as he left, and the sandy ground outside concealed the sound of his boots as he walked away. She didn't cry, no she would be as brave as her lady mother and do her duty. For no matter how much Ser Khae was like a knight from a song, he was not one.

No man was.


	5. Chapter 5

Ser Khae was distant all the following day, and on the night before they entered Sunspear he disappeared altogether. Sansa did not cry, merely accepted her fate once again that because of her actions her rescuer had abandoned her. The Tyrells made excuses for the absent knight, saying perhaps urgent business of House Martell had called him away now that he was so close to Sunspear. Sansa had had to bite back acid words that she herself was urgent business of House Martell, perhaps the most important business to come to them of late. After all, she reminded herself bitterly, it was in her womb that a future Prince or Princess of Dorne would grow--and that this was all the use she was to the Martells.

Upon arriving at the palace they were greeted by Prince Doran and his daughter Princess Arianne, the prince trading kindly barbs with Lady Olenna while the princess japed about Lord Willas' cane. Sansa waited awkwardly until being introduced, painfully aware that her sworn sword had abandoned her here and that her betrothed had also chosen to absent himself from their greeting. It was not the rudest treatment she'd been afforded of late, but it did serve to reinforce her purpose here. There was little of interest about her to Prince Oberyn other than the fact that she would secure his bid to legally usurp his brother.

"My brother regrets missing your arrival, Lady Stark," Prince Doran said, seeing her steeling herself after noting his absence, "he has been overseeing the construction of a small holdfast just south of here. Near Lemonwood." Sansa's mind conjured House Lemonwood's colors, the lemons bright and cheery against the purple field. Without asking Sansa knew it would be where she'd be kept, like her tragic aunt Lady Lyanna, until she bore her husband his heir. It was only her time in the court of King's Landing that kept her from crying.

Instead she nodded courteously, murmuring that she was excited to meet him when he returned. The spot at her side that Ser Khae had occupied over the last six weeks felt cold and she cursed her stupidity at kissing him. _Life is not a song_ , she counseled herself as she changed for supper later that evening, _and I should know it by now_. She managed to be sweet and chirp her words during the evening meal, though by the end she was utterly exhausted--not helped by the announcement that her wedding would take place in a little over sennight and that Prince Oberyn would remain away until nearly the day of their nuptials.

His daughters were kind to her, though she kept them a bit at bay having learned from the kindness of Ser Khae that such warmth was a farce only. The eldest, Obara, was nearly the age of Lady Catelyn, while the youngest, Loreza, clung to her mother's skirts and wouldn't speak to Sansa save when Prince Oberyn's paramour bribed the child with lemoncakes. Only seven of the girls were present in Sunspear, one of them visiting Oldtown apparently. Sansa remembered the letter that Lord Tywin had shown her, the dispassion with which Prince Doran wrote of her predicament and how she was suited for Prince Oberyn due to her solitude and status as prisoner of the Iron Throne.

What did these bastard girls have to fear from the daughter of a traitor? The sister of a traitor? As they swarmed around her and helped fit her with a Dornish wedding dress of periwinkle and sapphire blue silks--ornamented almost mockingly with silver direwolves on the sleeves and bodice, sewn there by Tyene Sand herself--Sansa knew they had very little to fear from her. Her marriage would mean their father moved up in the world, and such a thing could only be good for them. The only hold-out in her opinion of the Sand Snakes as they were called was Elia.

Elia was Sansa's age, and the pinched looks on her face when she thought no one observed her told Sansa everything else she was missing. Just about the only single men of high birth in Westeros who were older than Oberyn Martell were Hoster Tully and Tywin Lannister, and despite everyone else's behavior it seemed at least that Elia Sand knew how poorly matched in age Sansa and Oberyn were.


	6. Chapter 6

A day before her wedding she received a letter from Prince Oberyn detailing everything that was completed in the holdfast and what he would leave to her own tastes--and Sansa was relieved that he was meeting her expectations of him. She wouldn't quite know what to do had he not. Ser Khae had ridden to Prince Oberyn's small bit of land, she was told when she asked and this did not surprise her either. Among the main family and their guards she had little use for her sworn sword, but it would do well for her guard to know of any ways she might escape her newest prison. 

At least they know me that well, despite just meeting me, she thought as she was helped into her wedding finery by her soon-to-be-stepdaughters. Not that there would be anywhere to run to here in the very eastern tip of Dorne. The wedding meanwhile was going to be a small affair, Prince Doran likely wanting to avoid letting Prince Oberyn flaunt his victory to too many of their bannermen. She was helped into a litter to travel from the palace to the sept while Prince Oberyn's paramour and daughters walked behind, and Sansa managed to smile at the people of Sunspear who bowed and curtsied as she passed. She managed to ignore the joyful calls given to Ellaria Sand and her children. 

At the entrance of the sept there awaited Lord Willas, offering his arm to her to walk her through the sept to the altar. Sansa looked up at him and remembered Margaery's foiled plot to have them wed--in truth he was also inappropriately older than herself, but less so than Prince Oberyn. As they walked, slowly and punctuated with the sound of his cane, Sansa lowered her eyes to the floor. No one reacted as she walked by, no titters of amusement or moues of sympathy passed the lips of those gathered to watch the daughter of Eddard Stark wed the Red Viper. They left her to her fate. She also thought of Ser Khae, failing in willing away the brief touch of his lips on hers--had they twitched the slightest amount in wanting? Did she only imagine passion and intimacy as parts of her future, only for her worth to come down to the ranks of her parents and the children she herself would bring forth? Would anyone ever want her for herself?

Probably not, she decided as she let Lord Willas remove her maiden's cloak. As Sansa raised her eyes to the man standing next to her she resisted gasping--after nearly a fortnight's disappearance, Ser Khae mazmo Katlasa stood tall next to her. He was dressed in fine clothes befitting his station as a high-ranking sworn sort in service to House Martell. There was also an elaborate cloak falling from his shoulders that trailed the ground as he walked. It would make sense, Sansa thought, to so bedeck the man who would guard Prince Oberyn's brood mare.

As they stood there in the space between the Mother and the Father that Sansa realized she was not even important enough to be wedded face to face. Prince Oberyn was not waiting for here, and she realized the import of her sworn sword's cloak. A daughter of House Stark, married to a second son who sent a knight in his stead--her face flushed as she clenched her hands together so tightly that her nails bit into her palms.

"You may now cloak the bride and place her under your protection," the septon said. Sansa gingerly turned her back on him, letting him settle the heavy orange cloak on her. It was a beautiful thing, one she would no doubt wish a son of hers to put on some woman in a score of years from now. She mourned for the life she would live between now and then, she thought as she and Ser Khae recited the binding words. Then they presented their hands to the septon, for him to fast them together.

"Let it now be known that Prince Oberyn of the Houses Nymeros Martell and Toland and Lady Sansa of the House Stark are one heart," a wrap around their wrists, "one flesh," another crossing under their linked hands, "and one soul," and then unwinding both. "Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." Sansa was barely able to move from her shock, only coming awake when the man beside her turned them to face the apparently sizable crowd in the sept and announced that with his kiss he would pledge his love--

Sansa slapped him, stumbling back a step once she did so when his dark eyes turned on her. Only instead of anger lighting in those eyes there was amusement with just a tinge of sadness. She knew the words of proxy, the words that the septon should have spoken: Let it now be known that Prince Oberyn of the Houses Martell and Tolad, by proxy of his sworn knight Ser Khae mazmo Katlasa, takes Lady Sansa of the House Stark to wife. May they live as one heart--so on and so on.

"Allow me to apologize, Lady Sansa," he said, not taking a step towards her but reaching out both of his hands. Sansa shook and trembled but did not want to risk angering this man and so drew near to him once more. It occurred to her that no one yelped in surprise or laughed at her outburst, and she was about to look out at the crowd of guests when Ser--Prince Oberyn got her attention once more by raising his hands a little further towards her.

"Why?" her question was so soft she doubted the septon even heard it.

"A kiss first, sweet lady," he said, still holding his hands out to her with the palms up. When she gave her own hands to him he merely lifted them and kissed the knuckles of each, then turning and tucking one of her hands into the crook of his elbow as they made their way out of the sept. They were applauded the entire way, everyone celebrating in earnest unlike when Joffrey and Margaery had been wedded.

"The betrothal between us was in answer to your mother's desperate wish that you be taken from King's Landing. Your brother's concerns have..." there was a delicate pause that told Sansa too much, "shifted, and she worried your fate was forgotten or too far from his mind. It was her last letter to my brother before she was captured that set things in motion."

Sansa ignored his explanation for their wedding, she needed no such details. Ever since her father's head had been removed so too had her illusions. 

"Why did you lie?" With this she dared look up at him, seeing the knight she'd grown so fond of on the road mixed with his status as a prince of Dorne.

"So I might know you better and sooner. So you would not hide yourself from Prince Oberyn, the Red Viper. So I might prove that I do not bite no matter what you might have been told," he replied.

"And the holdfast between here and Lemonwood?"

"Ours, a place where you will be able to dictate even the smallest thing and none shall question you. My," he paused for a moment here, "paramour Ellaria and my children can remain in the Water Gardens or in Sunspear should you wish it." Sansa's mind conjured the looks of all the girls as they'd observed her over the last several days. Were she Catelyn Stark the answer would be obvious--though were she Eddard Stark it would be just as obvious in the opposite fashion.

"And if I do not know yet?" her new husband shrugged, patting her hand with his free one.

"Then you do not know yet, and are wise for it. Tell me, wife, do you enjoy lemoncakes?" There was a twinkle in Prince Oberyn's eye, for he plainly knew the answer as she'd told it to Ser Khae so many weeks ago. Sansa couldn't help the smile that answered him, then, for she was glad now of his little ruse.

"Tell me first, husband," how strange the word felt on her tongue, "the meaning of the name of my knight." Prince Oberyn threw his head back and laughed before whispering conspiratorially:

"It means red viper, my darling, and I shall make good on vows made to you then as I will on all the ones after."

Her thoughts days ago were true and false at once--there were no knights such as Ser Khae, for Ser Khae was not real. There were, however, princes.


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa found herself queerly happy in her marriage. The Dalts of Lemonwood were often visitors to the home Oberyn gave her--which she had named Sunwolf--the ladies spending their days with her sewing as she would read aloud from books of adventure that her husband or his family would get for her. Prince Oberyn did not sleep many nights at Sunwolf keep, and never in her chambers. All of the fear-mongering of the Lannisters was for nought, as it was quietly and carefully revealed to her that due to Prince Doran's illness a strong presence needed to be felt in Dorne and that Princess Arianne was yet a bit young for the role. It was easier for those outside of Dorne to believe the ruse of a usurping younger brother, with Lord Willas and Princess Arianne going on a tour of the Free Cities after their wedding.

During their absence Sansa had grown used to the presence of Oberyn's family, though she keenly felt her uselessness in his life when a whore from Godsgrace birthed his ninth bastard. The girl was named Eriadna for an ancient Martell woman. Oberyn's appetites were unchanged by their marriage and she was yet too young to give him children--by Dornish law, wives in political marriages had to celebrate their sixteenth nameday before their husband could come to their beds unless in a time of war. It was the only part of her life here that caused her anxiety, for it was said that her goodsister Jeyne had already borne two little boys and she'd had correspondence from her mother telling of a little half-sister named Minisa Lannister--and another babe on the way, both fathered by the hateful Kingslayer.

Minisa was apparently Sansa's copy in all but her gem-green eyes, and was one of her mother's few solaces in Casterly Rock.

The war was ended, also, after Joffrey had accidentally shot himself with a crossbow as he struggled to load the thing during a hunt celebrating the birth of his son Prince Luthor--and Queen Margaery had quickly moved to have her infant son crowned King of the Realm and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Along with the crowning of King Luthor Tyrell-Baratheon, the Red Keep arranged peace with King Robb. Margaery now ruled in King's Landing with Lord Tywin, as graceful and cunning as Queen Cersei had always thought herself to be. Sansa prayed that her old friend had luck with her venture--and that Robb would see sense and not raise his banners once more come Spring.

Lord Willas and Princess Arianne were gone for nearly two years--returning on a ship circled by dragons in the sky. The wedding had been a sham, secretly declared void nearly the moment they left the Dornish coast, and now Lord Willas returned having wed Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen. While originally the Martells had planned to wed the Targaryen princess to Prince Quentyn it was more practical to ally with the Reach and declare war when Winter receded into Spring. The Tyrells had been as staunchly loyal to the Targaryens as the Martells had been and had hungered for their previous pride of place in the Realm.

The Targaryen woman, styling herself Queen of Westeros and Mother of Dragons among other monikers, was tiny and stunningly beautiful when they met her. Sansa, her hand tucked into Oberyn's elbow, had felt gangly and awkward before her when she alighted from the back of a huge black dragon on the shoreline near Sunwolf. The silver-haired infant in Lord Willas' arms also caused anxiety to well up in her, for once again a political marriage had been finalized with the arrival of an heir.

"Princess Sansa, I am pleased to meet you," the woman said, making neither bow nor curtsy. Sansa remembered all of her manners, however, and knew her curtsy was perfect. She was still Ned Stark's daughter, and that meant that they two had history muddled by murder on both sides. She would have to tread carefully, for Oberyn was her only protection and--

"I am also to," Daenerys said after a moment, "spare you any judgment for the past we share. On pain of being needled to death," she finished with a wry smile as a second dragon landed, throwing sand all about and shrieking out a roar. From it's creamy back slid a form as tiny as Daenerys' own, with a dark mop of hair flowing at shoulder length. At first Sansa thought the woman had some urchin following her so loyally until she caught the glimpse of hard gray eyes above a Northron face.

She tore her hand from Oberyn's arm, picking up her skirts, and screaming out her sister's name. The dragon hissed and rumbled, putting sense to her movements, making her hesitant. What if Arya did not want to see her? She definitely did not expect Arya to stomp on the dragon's taloned foot and jog over to Sansa after the creature growled and bent in submission. Her small arms were muscled and strong as she clutched Sansa close.

"You're alive," Sansa managed to say, though her voice shook from tears and her legs threatened to betray her on the soft sand, "you're alive."

"And you're not married to that Baratheon wretch, I'm--I'm so glad," Arya mumbled. At this Sansa's tears spilled over and she finally let her legs go out from under herself as she sat down on the sand. Arya remained standing, petting at the crown of Sansa's head awkwardly as Sansa wrapped her arms around her sister's legs and wept. Oberyn had been so far unable to get her to Winterfell or to see her mother--Lady Catelyn's letters were the most he could accomplish--but quite on accident he had fulfilled perhaps her dearest wish.

Later that evening after everyone had gone to bed, Sansa crept through the halls of her home and entered a chamber she'd never gone to alone. The coldness of her feet woke Oberyn as he slept, just enough for him to give her a small smile and tuck her under his arm. It was very late, and Sansa's servants had made sure the wine flowed freely though their lady had not partaken of any, and so Sansa contented herself with curling up against her husband. Tomorrow she would ask him to hold and kiss her, perhaps even bed her, as he did Ellaria Sand, and maybe in a year or so she would be able to ask Arya to hold guard over a little girl with Dornish curls and Northron gray eyes.

Or a son, her dreamer's heart whispered, a son named Khae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all very heartily for reading and reviewing! This story is completed now, and I hope that you enjoyed it! Let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> This kicked its way into my head one day and so here we go. It's only a few chapters. Let me know what you think!


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